“No.” Henricksen caught Sikuuku’s eyes, brushed his hands away. “Let them watch. You’re right, we need the data.” He flicked his gaze to Kinsey. “Next time you tell me. Your project, my crew. That’s the only way this works.”
Kinsey lifted his chin, looking arrogant as ever. Considered a moment and nodded tightly—grudging acquiescence, but acquiescence nonetheless. “May I?” he sneered, waving at the video feed behind him.
“Run it,” Henricksen nodded. “You get your data and you get that crew back here. Nothing fancy, no extras—engines and cloaking system. You get what you need and you cut it. Bring that bird back to the hangar.” He stared at Kinsey until he nodded—stiff and angry, just like before. Turned aside and folded his arms, studying the video feed flickering on the windows’ glass.
Sixteen
“Proceed,” Kinsey said, opening a channel to the stealth ship. “Stay on course to the next beacon. Propulsion engines only for now. We’ll monitor from here.”
“Acknowledged,” Adaeze answered, and dropped the channel into silence.
“You sure about this?” Sikuuku murmured, nodding to Baldini and the others watching from the back of the room. “You say the word and I’ll hustle them back into the sims.”
“Leave it,” Henricksen told him, shaking his head. “Afternoon’s shot anyway.” Not quite—they still had a couple of hours before dinner—but at best they’d get one more run in. “Doubtful we’ll get anything useful out of the crews today. Not with this going on.” He waved at the windows, indicating the stealth ship, and Kinsey, the lab coats busily gathering data nearby.
“Control, we’re approaching the second beacon.” Adaeze again, as calm and collected as ever. Like taking the stealth ship out for a test spin was no big deal. “How’s the data look?”
Kinsey looked a question at Wallace, saw her nod seriously, flash a thumbs up. “Nominal on our end, One-Eight-Three.” He paused, frowning as Song waved her arms, mouthing a question. “Engineers are asking if you can test out the stealth system before you head into jump.”
“On it. Activating the cloak in three, two, one.”
A ripple on the video feed and the RV-N disappeared. “Son-of-a-bitch,” Henricksen breathed, staring in disbelief. “What do the sensors show?”
Song looked around, shunted a data window to the glass showing the feeds from the Number Two beacon’s sensors.
Energy signature there, the stealth ship’s engines showing clearly despite the cloak wrapped around the ship. A whispered request from the engineer and even that disappeared as Adaeze cut the ship’s propulsion, drifting on momentum.
“Whoa,” Adaeze breathed.
“What’s wrong?” Henricksen demanded, hearing the tremble in her voice. “What’s going on?”
Kinsey twisted, frowning in disapproval, finger raised in warning. “Something wrong, Adaeze?” he asked, casually as always, showing not the least bit of concern.
“Harmonics,” she told him, sucking in a shaking breath. “Vibration in the cabin. Must be the stealth system. Sims...” Another breath, voice steadying, returning to normal. “Sims don’t really prepare you for that.”
“How bad?” Kinsey asked her, brow creasing as he reached for a panel, scrolling through a data window’s information.
“Tolerable.” Deep breath, long exhalation. “Rattles your bones, though.”
“Cabin needs baffling.” Shaw slid in at Henricksen’s elbow, coveralls splashed with grease. Shaw who ran the mech gang and knew just about every engineering detail about the RV-N chassis. The ins and outs of its stealth system and jump drives, weapons, environmentals, you name it. Who also knew a thing or two to say about those pulverized pilots the Fleet medicaled out.
She nodded to Henricksen and folded her arms, frowning like a thunderhead at Kinsey’s pinstriped suit. The lab coated engineers hovering around the monitoring stations, poring over every piece of data the ship and the beacons sent back. “Keep tellin’ ’em that.” A nod to Song, and Wallace beside her. “Raven’s a rough ride on a good day. Beats hell out of the pilots. Command pod needs cushioning to keep them from turning into jelly.”
“What’s Karansky say?” he asked, eyes flicking to the chief engineer watching from the corner.
“Karansky?” Shaw snorted in derision. “Karansky won’t listen to anyone other than his two lackeys over there. Just a deck monkey, after all.” She flicked her collar devices, gestured at her grease-stained coveralls. “Big man won’t stoop low enough to speak to a wrencher like me.”
“So take it up with Kinsey,” Sikuuku suggested.
Shaw turned her head, giving the gunner a flat-eyed stare. “Kinsey’s in too damn much of a hurry to worry about little things like the crew’s comfort.” She studied the engineers a moment, slid a look Henricksen’s way. “Not my idea, by the way.” A wave to the video feed showing on the windows. “Buttoned up the engines and stealth system last night, but I was hoping to have a couple of days to run diagnostics before…” Shaw trailed off, shrugging. “Kinsey,” she said, as if that explained everything. “Man’s in an all-fired hurry for some reason.”
“Yeah,” Henricksen murmured. “Yeah, he is.”
Sikuuku whistled appreciatively, drawing their eyes back to the windows. To the video feed of the RV-N. “Would you look at that? Ship’s damn near invisible!”
Henricksen grunted, eyes shifting from the empty piece of space where the RV-N should be, to the data window layered over it, ship’s information streaming endlessly. “Be nice if they could figure out how to mask the engines.”
“Yeah, but…damn.” Sikuuku blinked, shaking his head in admiration.
“We’ve reached the second beacon,” Adaeze announced. “Want me to take her into jump?”
“Let me at ’em. Let me at ’em,” a genderless voice quipped in the background.
Sikuuku frowned, head tilting. “That the AI?”
“That’d be my guess,” Henricksen smiled.
“Sounds funny.”
“Shaw says they’re still ‘finding themselves’ or some such.” Henricksen shrugged his shoulders. “Not much personality yet.”
Sikuuku grunted, thinking that over.
“Hold on jump, One-Eight-Three.” Song reached to one side, tapping at a panel. “I’d like to collect some more data on the stealth system first.”
“Got it. We’ll just circle here until you tell us to cut it out.”
Song smiled, nodding, leaned over her station and worked at the panel in earnest.
Curious, Henricksen wandered over, checking out what she was doing.
“Direct data feed.” Song looked up, pointed at the station in front of her, the video feed on the glass. “RV-N’s monitoring system keeps tabs on everything. Since we can’t monitor the stealth system remotely, the ship’s systems capture it locally and feed it back here.” She tapped the panel, highlighting a data window, lines and lines of information scrolling endlessly across its face. “Excuse me,” she said, turning back to the station, opening a channel to the ship. “Alright. That should do it. You can shut the cloaking system down.” Song turned her head, watching the ship shimmer into existence, nodded to Kinsey as she turned the station over to Wallace.
A look from Kinsey and Henricksen retreated, watching the video feed from the center of the room.
Sikuuku slid in beside him, smile on his face. “Crowded over there, I take it.”
“Apparently,” Henricksen grunted.
“Alright, Lieutenant.” Kinsey keyed the comms, calling to the stealth ship. “Spool up the jump drives.”
“Aye, sir. Hyperdrive system is live. Engines are spooling. We’re go for jump in three minutes.”
“Acknowledged. We’ll set the clock.” Kinsey nodded to Wallace who set a timer on the front windows, numbers ticking rhythmically as the RV-N glided through space.
Sikuuku nudged Henricksen’s arm, nodded to Taggert behind them, sidling surreptitiously toward one of the monitoring stations,
eyes flicking around the room as he rattled at the keys, casually logging in. Snuck another look around while the system processed his credentials, tipped a wink at Henricksen and Sikuuku when he caught them looking and raised a finger to his lips.
“What do you suppose he’s up to?” Sikuuku asked, pitching his voice low.
“God only knows,” Henricksen muttered, pointedly looking away. “Boy’s always sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.”
Sikuuku looked at him, and at Taggert behind them. “You want me to…”
Henricksen glanced around, considering, saw Taggert raise a hand, waving furiously at Ogawa until she crept over to join him. “Leave it,” he said, as the two engineering officers bowed their heads together, huddled over the monitoring station. “My guess is he’s snooping through the beacons’ data. Kinsey and crew find out and don’t like it, they can take it up with Taggert themselves.”
“Thirty seconds to jump,” Fisker announced.
“This is it.” Henricksen leaned forward as the hyperspace buckle solidified—a glimmering hole of endless darkness floating serenely in space.
The clock hit ten seconds, Fisker’s voice returning, counting the rest of the way down. “Ten. Nine. Eight…”
Henricksen spread his legs wide, muscles tensing, anticipating the buck and kick that came with jump. Blushed when he realized what he was doing, laughed and nudged Sikuuku in the side when he caught the gunner doing the same.
“Jump!” Fisker called, and the RV-N surged forward, buckle wrapping around it, pulling it into the trough.
The ship’s beacon disappeared, jump distortion blocking its signal, but the video kept rolling, tracking RV-N-183 in real time, as it slid along the hyperspace trough.
“Weird, isn’t?” Sikuuku nodded to the video feed. “Seeing everything. Watching but not actually feeling anything.”
“Not quite real, is it?” Henricksen grunted. He tensed again as the stealth ship shuddered—nothing unusual, just the normal hyperspace displacement—relaxed as it settled out, gliding smoothly for a few seconds before dropping out of the trough.
Lot of stressors in hyperspace. Body grew used to the push and pull of conflicting forces that came with faster than light travel. Brain reacted instinctively, not knowing what was real and what wasn’t.
Used to hate that feeling, when the ship first entered jump. But over time, Henricksen grew to love it. Crave it, every bit as much as the stars.
Too long. He twitched his shoulders, dispelling a sudden surge of jealousy as RV-N-183’s beacon reappeared. Far too long since I was out there, gliding amongst those stars.
Sikuuku looked at him, brow creased with worry. “You alright?”
“Yeah. Fine. Just…” He waved at the windows, the RV-N’s video feed. “Just miss it is all.”
“Don’t we all?” Sikuuku grunted, lips twisting in a bitter smile.
“Jump complete,” Fisker announced. “We’re holding steady at Beacon 3.”
Hint of victory in the young ensign’s voice. A note of smug satisfaction at successfully completing the RV-N’s first ever hyperspace jump.
Henricksen frowned, shaking his head. “Don’t get cocky, Fisker. Don’t jinx this.”
“Engines are running hot.” Worry in Fisker’s voice now, the smugness completely gone.
“Told you,” Henricksen muttered, arms unfolding, unconsciously moving closer to the windows.
“Stand by.” Wallace frantically worked at her station, poring through data, cycling through one monitoring system after another. “Sir?” She threw a worried look at Kinsey but it was Karansky who stepped in, inserting himself for the first time.
“They’re within tolerances,” he said, nodding to Kinsey. “Nothing to worry about.”
Kinsey frowned at the chief engineer, looking less than pleased.
Odd dynamic there. Kinsey ran the project, but as the RV-N’s designer, Karansky should really be leading this test.
“Engines are within tolerances,” Kinsey repeated, speaking directly to the stealth ship crew this time. “Proceed on mission.”
Took a moment for Fisker to answer, and when he did, he sounded nowhere near as confident as Kinsey. “Roger, control. Setting up for another run.”
Karansky looked at Kinsey, inclining his head. Stepped back, turning the reins back over as he resumed his place in the shadows.
Sikuuku elbowed Henricksen in the side, pointing with his chin, eyes flicking from Karansky to Kinsey. “That seem right to you?”
“Nothing about this seems right,” Henricksen muttered, and then shushed the gunner as Fisker’s voice issued from comms.
“Jump course plotted. Two-hop to Beacon Four. Straight shot from there back to the first beacon.”
“Acknowledged.” Wallace cut the channel, frowning as Song leaned close. Whispering something, pointing at her station and the video feed. She turned her head, looking a question at Kinsey—interesting that he ran everything, leaving Karansky watching from the fringes—keyed comms open when he shrugged and nodded, calling back to the ship. “Slight change of plans, One-Eight-Three. Two-hop is go, but we’d like you to activate the stealth system on your way back.”
A pause, and Adaeze’s voice came through, sounding puzzled and annoyed. “You told us you had the stealth system data.”
“Just one last test,” Wallace promised. “We want to see how it operates under load.”
Another pause, longer this time. “Roger,” Adaeze answered. “Jump in thirty seconds.”
Comms clicked closed and the control room went quiet, everyone watching the video feed, the data streaming back from the sensors. Thirty seconds and the stealth ship jumped away, reappeared briefly before disappearing again.
Short stop at Beacon Four to relay the ship’s status. Fisker still seemed worried about the engines and asked Wallace to run diagnostics and a full spectrum analysis before spooling the jump drives up again.
“Smart ensign you’ve got there,” Shaw grunted, tapping into a station, checking the data herself. “Jump drive system on the RV-N’s state-of-the-art—bit overpowered for a ship that size, if you ask me, but super-efficient.” She peered at the data, frowning as she straightened. “He’s right, though. Engines are running a bit hot.”
“How hot?” Henricksen asked her. “I’ve seen ships burn out their jump drives in hyperspace. The results aren’t pretty.”
“What? Oh! No! Nothing like that,” Shaw assured him. “Wallace is right.” A nod to the lab-coated engineer across the room. “It’s all within tolerances. I’d just like to tweak the settings, is all. See if I can’t improve the venting. Cool the damn things down.”
Henricksen frowned, sharing a look with Sikuuku, liking this entire situation less and less. “You sure? This is a shake-out run, right? Maybe we should just bring them back in on their propulsion engines.”
“Yeah, right.” Shaw snorted. “And wait a week for them to get here.” She slid her eyes toward Henricksen. “Engines are fine, Captain. Promise. They’ll bring your crew back here.” She winked, nodding to the windows as RV-N-183 moved forward, slipping into the hyperspace buckle. “Last hop,” she said, smiling confidently. “Almost home.”
That’s when everything went wrong.
The monitoring system caught it first, registering an unexpected energy spike five seconds into the RV-N’s last jump. A spike that kept spiking, oscillating badly, causing the ship to wobble and start slewing around.
Not a good situation, especially when transiting the hyperspace trough.
“Control!” Adaeze sounded panicked, not her usual calm, cool self. “Control we’ve got a situation. The ship—the ship—”
Kinsey touched at the comms panel, leaned close to the mic. “Talk to me, Lieutenant. What’s going on?”
“Can’t—can’t,” she panted. “The ship—”
“I’m sorry,” the AI cut in, genderless voice filled with mourning. “I’m so sorry, Shaw.”
A flare of light blot
ted out the video feed, monitoring system throwing up warnings, data windows blanking as the comms channel crackled and went dead.
“What just happened?” Henricksen stared at the blanked out video feed, turned toward the engineers and saw them glance at each other—eyes wide, brows wrinkled in confusion—shaking their heads. “What the hell just happened?”
“Some—some kind of error,” Song told him, voice shaking, arms wrapped tight around her middle. “I’m—I’m not sure—” She licked her lips, throwing desperate glances at Kinsey, blinked and stared at the windows as a video feed appeared.
“Is that the ship?” Sikuuku squinted, moving closer to the windows. “Is that the ship?” he repeated when Song just stood there, shaking her head.
“It’s the beacon.” Wallace pushed Song aside, bent over a station and started working away. “Sensors on Beacon One are picking up something. Looks like…” She froze, head lifting, looking Kinsey’s way. “It’s an energy signature.”
“What kind of energy signature?” Kinsey asked, voice carefully controlled, back ramrod straight.
Wallace swallowed hard, face paling. “Hyperspace displacement,” she said, voice the barest whisper. “It’s a jump signature, sir.” She pointed a trembling finger at the video feed on the windows as the dark void of a hyperspace buckle appeared, flashed brightly and spat the pulverized remains of RV-N-183 out.
Seventeen
Fleet investigators descended on Dragoon within a day of the accident—a dozen of them in total, dressed in starched shirts and crisp suits because somehow that was meant to be more comforting. More inviting than a bunch of smartly pressed uniforms decked out with racks upon racks of ribbons.
Problem was, they still looked military. Suit and tie couldn’t change that.
Square-sided haircuts on the male investigators, overly severe buns on their female counterparts. Everything spit and polish—backs straight, eyes sharp as broken glass—entirely spoiling their attempt at obfuscation. Putting everyone even more on edge than if they’d just been honest and worn their uniforms. Admitted what they were.
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